A/N:
Alright, y'all - this is my first trip into the realm of the
Superstar/OC universe. I'm really nervous about this, so if you have
any constructive criticism (too cliche, too unrealistic, too
anything) let me know. Let me take the time and say constructive
criticism…I'm not one to keep my mouth shut when I'm angry so
be warned. Other than that, I'm a VERY nice person. Anyway If I'm
crossing the line and doing the same old thing that everyone else has
already done, tell me and I'll scrap the whole idea and start
something new. You will not see the same old story… there will be
no Superstar/OC pregnancies so if that's what you want sorry. That
being said - I don't own any of the names you recognize in this
story.

Sweet Ruptured Life

Chapter 1

It was the first day
back from winter vacation. The weather was cold- the high being about
thirty five, the weatherwoman predicted, and there might be a slight
chance of snow. Jeff hoped it would snow all day and night, having
school called off for the next day. The prospect was unlikely, but
even after a two week break; the idea of another day off was
welcomed.

He entered the front
hall, still sipping the rest of his coffee and looking around at the
other kids. Many were noticeably tired, but still pretty loud,
comparing shoes that had be Christmas presents, and talking about the
basketball games and the big party the week before. Jeff had known
most of these kids since junior high and he felt comfortable in the
crowd.

She was strong. She was
angry. And she wasn't afraid to fight. Dahlia strode down the
Raleigh streets, collar of her jacket turned up and iPod blaring in
her ears. Anger was the only thing that kept her warm. Anger at her
parents for bringing her to this cold city. Anger at the city for
being gray and uncaring. But mostly, she was angry at herself for
being cold and scared in this place. If someone, anyone had spoken to
her at that point, she probably would have ripped their head off.
Literally.

But the North Carolina
streets were empty as she strode down the sidewalk. She figured
everyone with sense had taken a car or a bus. But the bus that she
was supposed to take never arrived. So after almost forty minutes of
waiting, she decided to walk. From what she heard from her parents,
the school wasn't that far away. So by using her anger as her own
jacket; she began walking to find a school that she had never seen,
in a city that she had never visited, to enroll for classes in the
eleventh grade.

Dahlia had just moved
from Green Point, New York. She decided right then that she
officially hated Raleigh, North Carolina with a passion. The sky was
a dreary gray and dirty snow covered the probably dirty sidewalk. Ok,
New York wasn't the most glorious, but come on! I just wanna throw
some paint out my window and color this place up! How do these people
expect me to live here? I can already tell, I don't fit in here.
New York had been so different, practically a 180 from what's here!

Looking up and down the
streets and imagining the differences of this place and New York only
made her anger return. There were no brightly colored stores, there
were no Hispanic flavor here. Practically everyone in Green Point
spoke both Spanish and English fluently. She had felt so at home
there. The music from the radio, the passing conversations, even the
food had there own Spanish feel to it. Might as well have "No
Habla Espanol!" written here on every nasty brown building here!

Dahlia could see the
school about a block ahead. It was just as expected-tall, brown and
ugly. Schools in New York weren't exactly sprawled around, but they
all looked different. They had brick, stone and different walkways
for each. Lunch was always outside and there was just a sense of
freedom in the air. How will I ever find my way in this giant
jail? She wondered bitterly, wiggling her toes inside her boots
to try and get some feeling back and made her way inside.

The school was dark and
depressing. The halls were dark and depressing. It even smelled dark
and depressing. Kids were in small groups, talking way too loudly.
Girls were giggling about shoes and other odd things, guys were
either staring at her passing or laughing way too loudly at some
dumb, immature joke. No one spoke or noticed Dahlia as she made her
way through the crowd. She entered the office, looking around for
someone who could help.

"Could I help you
dear?" a woman asked, leaning against a nearby desk. Dahlia
bristled inwardly. She hated the term dear.

"Umm, yeah. I'm
new here and I came to enroll. Here are my transcripts from New
York." She replied, handing her papers to the woman.

The woman, cracking
her gum really loudly, drew up a schedule for her and passed it to
her, "Dear, this year we're trying something new. It says here
that you took dance classes in school for a pretty long time so I'm
putting you in Modern and Hip Hop. It's a new thing to try and get
kids to get out of their little cliques and talk to one another. Your
locker is number 425.Oh and I'm Ms. Callaway by the way" Dahlia
thanked her and grabbed her schedule, turning on her heel to leave,
but she was stopped by the woman again.

"I know you're
probably not happy with moving here, but give us a chance. We don't
bite. Or at least, most of us don't" added the woman with a wry
smile.

The Latina reluctantly
returned the smile and walked out of the office. She sighed and
headed for the fourth floor to her locker before she went to her
first class. The halls were mostly empty by now, only crumpled papers
and food wrappers littering the floor. Walking down the hall, she
listened to Ms. Callaway's overly cheery voice fill the halls with
reminders of SAT preparation, late passes and the football team
tryouts. None of these things held any weight to her as she continued
toward her locker.

Walking along the
fourth floor, she checked all the lockers but couldn't find number
425. She saw 419, 420 then the numbers jumped to 453. Why do
schools do this to kids? She thought in frustration. She finally
regained ground as she spotted 421- almost down the hall. She began
walking, counting the numbers absently as she moved past them 421…
422… 423… 424… Dahlia hit something fairly solid, stumbling
against the wall of lockers, almost losing her balance.

"Sorry 'bout that.
Was really looking where I was going.", she half mumbled as she
began moving toward her locker again.

"Dahlia Cortez"
the Latina replied. Jeff nodded his head and turned back to the
locker. She looked up slightly, looking at the number. 425.

Jeff busied himself
with the locker, looking at Dahlia out the corner of his eye. He
hadn't seen her before so he assumed that she was new. And wasn't
she cute. He shook his head slightly. Cute was an understatement. She
was beautiful. Jeff slightly shook his head and returned to opening
his locker. She probably had a boyfriend. But before he could really
open the locker, he was stopped dead in his tracks by a warm hand on
his shoulder and a soft voice.

"You're kinda at
my locker."

He turned to the new
girl again- Dahlia, sweeping a few locks of hair from his eyes,
"Excuse me?"

"I said, you're at
my locker" she said again, her voice a little louder this time; a
hint of Spanish in her speech, "It says so on this paper" she
finished, thrusting the paper at him.

Jeff's eyes swept
over the paper. She wasn't lying. But his paper said 425 as well.
He chuckled, drawing a small scowl from her.

"They didn't tell
you?" he chuckled.

"Tell me what?"
she replied, her frown deepening. She hated when everyone knew
something that she was supposed to know. It made her feel dumb.

"This year, everyone
is sharing a locker with someone. I guess Callaway forgot to tell
you." His chuckle slowly faded as he watched her glance over her
shoulder a few times, "What are you looking for?"

"I'm looking for
hidden cameras, because you can't be serious. Is that allowed?
Co-ed locker sharing?"

"I didn't really
think it mattered, but if you want, you can go all the way back
downstairs to Callaway and she can give you a new number." Jeff
said, smirking a little. Dahlia leaned against the lockers and stared
at him from in silence for a few seconds. He didn't look like the
type to go through her things, it was just something about him that
said the opposite, he'd respect her privacy. Nodding her head, she
pushed off and gave him a small smile.

"I guess you're
okay. Just open the locker, will you?" Dahlia admitted, watching
him nod and open the locker. Hanging his locker neatly on the hook,
he turned to her again.

Jeff smiled at her and
began walking to class. He could feel her eyes on him as he walked
away, but he knew that her eyes weren't hate filled. He strolled to
his class and casually knocked on the door. He was late and he knew
it, so the door was locked. Leaning on the doorframe, he glanced in
Dahlia's direction in time to see her remove her coat and smooth
down the front of her shirt. Letting her hair loose, she slightly
shook it out of the ponytail it was in, running her fingers through
the almost waist long length. He was so in awe, he didn't notice
the classroom door open or the teacher calling his name. He shook
himself out of his reverie and walked into the class, shutting the
door softly behind him.

The math teacher, a
short skinny man with a really cheap hairpiece that shifted on his
head when he moved, looked at Dahlia and smiled, "Welcome Dahlia.
You can take that seat right next to Mickie there. Now tell me
Dahlia, are you a good math student or will you fit in with my
students over there who think math was invented by big, stinky,
purple monsters?" he asked, pointing with his hand at various
students.

Dahlia grinned. "You
mean it wasn't?" she asked in mock surprise.

The teacher, Mr.
Heyman, rolled his eyes good naturedly and smiled again, "Yup
you're going to fit in just fine. Here's a textbook. We're on
page 142."

Most of the students
ignored Dahlia. A few guys looked over at her with interest, but
nobody moved past a smile. Everyone seemed to pay more attention to
the now falling snow than trinomials. The large snow flakes, covered
the ground, shielding the dirt and grayness from view. Dahlia watched
with the rest of them, wishing that the snow could also cover up her
loneliness as well.

Chapter 2

Forget milk, Dance does
the body good!

The bell rang for the
end of sixth period. The halls, which were empty a few seconds
before, became filled with students rushing to make it to their next
class. Most could make it in three, but the other two were used to go
to your locker, to use the restroom or as everyone else used it; to
gossip about the events that had just taken place. Dahlia walked
through the crowd, hearing bits and pieces of the conversations. She
knew they were about her. She smiled to herself as she neared her
locker remembering everything that had happened…

Dahlia moved of the
lunch line, nearly losing her breakfast over the sight of the lunch
that was being served. Note to self: pack own lunch thought
the Latina as she inched her way off the line, grabbing a bottle of
water

The author would like to thank you for your continued support. Your review has been posted.